What if Harry Potter had a sister
by FlowerStudios
Summary: What if Harry Potter had a sister? What would happen? Would she be the special one? Find out in this story! :) I do not own Harry Potter at all, the basic story belongs to J.K Rowlings, and this is just sort of an edit of the story! :3 I only own the characters and happenings that happen which didn't in the books... So ya.
1. Amelia Poter

Full Name

Amelia Lake Potter

Biographical Information

Born

31, July, 1980

Blood Status

Half-Blood

Marital Status

Single

Also Known as

Amy

Nerd (By Dudley and his gang)

Personality

Neat, Intellectual, Considerate, kind, helpful, shy-ish, creative, smart, clever, has a temper, curious, sympathetic, strategist, insightful, calm, hard worker, reader, fast. She has a habit of sticking up to people, and she's a little bossy (AT TIMES!)

Personality Type

Physical Information

Species

Gender

Hair Color:

Eye Color:

Skin Color

Family Information

Family members

Magical Characteristics

Boggart

Wand

Patronus

Other Magical Abilities:

Affliction

Occupation

House

Loyalty

Extra Information

Though Amelia may tend to have a temper, she can often have patients and good at resisting mocking or anything of the such, therefor causing whoever had tried to annoy her get annoyed instead. Although, often things can be just too much and she'll burst out angrily. She tries to keep patient with the Dursleys, and often does the cooking. She gets along okay with Aunt Petunia, getting up when she's supposed to and doing all she is supposed to. Amelia is smarter than her brother, Harry.

Often, she'll keep up to Malfoy, ignoring his taunts and provocations. Though like said in the first part of the 'Extra Information', she'll burst out at him. Normally, if an enemy of hers talks to her nastily, she'll deal with it fine and ignore it. But- if he treats someone else badly, then she'll be the first one to deal with that annoying git... In the 'Personality' part, it says she sticks up to people. Amelia can't stand bullies when they bully others, but if they bully her she never pays mind. Mostly, the girl cares more about others than herself, and would rather die for someone then letting them die for her.

Harry is a few minutes younger than her, (10 minutes to be exact) Amelia makes sure to take care of him, unlike the family they lived with, and on every birthday of his, she'd secretly make a cake for him, without candles, though. But Harry, on the other hand, doesn't exactly make much for her birthday because.. Well.. He's not the best... Cooker or... Present-maker.


	2. Prologue

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on theneighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as un-Dursleyish as it was possible to be.

The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, and to add to that, a daughter too, but they had never even seen him. The twins were another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with children like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair. None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. "Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar - a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen - then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive - no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs.

Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes - the getups you saw on young people! He supposed thiswas some stupid new fashion.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt - these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it.

The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills. Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning.

He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open- mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying. "The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard yes, their children, Harry and Amelia."

Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry.

Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry. He'd never even

seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her - if he'd had a sister like that... but all the same, those people in cloaks...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the

ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off. Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was.

He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw - and it didn't improve his mood - was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly. The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin.

"Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early - it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place?

And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters... Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er - Petunia, dear - you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister. "No," she said sharply. "Why?" "Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... Shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... You know... her crowd."

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son - he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"

"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite

agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there.

It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something. Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did... if it got out that they were related to a pair of - well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on - he yawned and turned over - it couldn't affect them...

How very wrong he was. Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as

still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice.

This man's name was Albus Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street.

For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known." He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop.

He clicked it again - the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement.

Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down "Has he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of"

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone -"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You- Know-Who' nonsense - for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice.

"It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven 't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too - well - noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?" It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true.

Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are - are - that they're - dead. " Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily. Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all.

They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's children, Harry and Amelia. But - he couldn't. He couldn't kill those little kids. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry or Amelia Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke - and that's why he's gone." Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's - it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill two children? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did they survive survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know." Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry and his sister to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

"You don't mean - you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four.

"Dumbledore - you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son - I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter and Amelia Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for them," said Dumbledore firmly. "Their aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to them when the twins are older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! They'll be famous - a legend - I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry and Amelia Potter day in the future - there will be books written about them - every child in our world will know their name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any child's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something they won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off they'll be, growing up away from all that until they are ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes - yes, you're right, of course. But how are the twins getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry and Amelia underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

"You think it - wise - to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to - what was that?" A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky - and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild - long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sit," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got them, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir - house was almost destroyed, but I got them out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. The boy fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol. 'is one though is still awake an' whining."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundles of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep, and a baby girl with her eyes wide open and arms swinging around. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over the boy's forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning. On the girl was a cut that looked exactly the same, and under her red hair on her forehead, the exact same place.

"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "They'll have those scars forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well - give them here, Hagrid - we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry and the boy's sister in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house. "Could I - could I say good-bye to them, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and Amelia and gave them what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it - Lily an' James dead - an' poor little Harry an' Amy off ter live with Muggles -"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry and a curious, fully awake, Amelia gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside their blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundles; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall - Professor Dumbledore, sir." Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundles of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry, Amelia," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand close to his sister, and Amelia was still awake, looking sadly at him as he slept on, neither of them knowing they were special, not knowing they were famous, not knowing they would be woken up after they both slept by Mrs. Dursely's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that they would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by their cousin Dudley... They couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their classes and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry and Amelia Potter - The children who lived!"


	3. Chapter 1

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their niece and nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose from the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' from door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed.

Teen years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets - but Dudely Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother.

The room held no sign at all that an extra girl and boy lived in the house, too.

Though, Harry and Amelia Potter were both still there at the Dursley residents, asleep in their cupboard. Their Aunt, Petunia, was awake and annoying as ever. Her shrill voice once again came through the cupboard door, the first noise of the day was her yelling:

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Amelia woke drowsily for a start, followed by her brother. When she rubbed her drooping eyes, her aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Amelia heard her walking into the kitchen and the sound of her Aunt putting a frying pan on the stove. Harry had rolled over onto his back and closed his eyes, while she got up and stretched. "Harry, come on!" She hissed impatiently.

Amelia had a knack of trying to please the Dursleys so that she could spend more time with Harry and also to get more respect, so she'd always go wake up whenever Aunt Petunia called. "I need to remember a dream I had!" Her brother snapped back in a tired voice.

"Let me guess, there was a flying motorcycle with a large man and a big beard covering most of his face, driving down with us as babies and then he delivered us to a man and then they put us down on the doorstep and-" Harry's shocked face made her stop dead.

Amelia figured her Aunt would be outside the door, and she was correct.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Yes. I was just waking Harry up. Coming Aunt Petunia!" Amy said cheerfully as possible without sounding like a fake cheer.

"Nearly awake." Muttered Harry.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Harry groaned.

"What did you say?" Their Aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing.." Amelia slapped her face, (Harry was so dumb!) and replied correctly to her Aunt. "Sorry, Aunt Petunia. Harry is hardly awake, he doesn't know what he's saying. I'll come. I promise not to burn the bacon- oh, and I even have something for Dudley, it's a present for him. I _think _he'll like it." She could see Petunia smirk through the door and she walked off. Amelia, already out of bed, looked for a pair of socks, so did Harry.

After a few moments, she found a pair next to Harry's messy blankets with a spider on it. Amy was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that's where they slept.

When she was dressed she went down the hall into the kitchen, clutching a large present in her hands. The table was almost beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though he had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and racing bike. Why he wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Amelia, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise - unless of course it involved Dudley punching somebody. Dudley's favorite punching bag was Harry, which he normally couldn't catch, Harry might not have looked like it, but he was pretty fast. Amelia, on the other hand, was Dudley's favorite servant. Even though, he liked punching her too, but she was, in fact, far faster than Harry.

"Hey, Dudley!" She barked loudly at the fat, five chinned boy. "What?" He demanded, but his eyes trailed over to the present she was holding and immediately his face looked even more demanding. "This. Catch! I have to look after the bacon. Harry- Garden!" It looked like her brother had came back to his senses because he looked at her widely through his glasses and stumbled loudly out a random door. "Mm..." Amelia heard Dudley mumble happily. _He's sure opened his present. _"Mum, dad, look! I got a set full of candies and a cake, and ice-cream! Why didn't _you _think of adding ice-cream?" Said Dudley angrily, glaring at his parents. _Bacon, oh no, I forgot the bacon! _

Eyes stretched wide, she turned around in a hurry and finally noticed the sweet sound of bacon sizzling and just simply the smell.

Luckily, though, it wasn't burnt at all, just one of the sides were absolutely ready. Amelia picked up the spatula and began to turn all the bacon.

Perhaps it had something to do with in a dark cupboard, but she and Harry had always been small and skinny for their age. They looked even smaller and skinnier than they really were because all they had to wear was old clothes. Amy had to wear her Aunt's old clothes, and Harry Dudley's. Dudley was four times bigger than Harry was, and Aunt Petunia's were too stretched up, so often they would drag on the ground, since she wasn't tall enough. Harry had a thin face, knobby knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He had round glasses held together by scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. She had heard him say that the only thing he liked about his appearance was the lighting shaped scar that he and she had. Amelia was nearly the same, (She didn't have glasses like her brother) but with long, wavy red hair and slightly strange green-brown eyes, though sometimes heard her Aunt grumble that she looked to much like Amelia's mother and Petunia's sister, Lily. They had had the scar for as long as they could remember, and the first question she had ever remembered asking her Aunt Petunia where they got it.

"In the car crash where your parents died." she had said. "And don't ask questions."

Don't ask questions. - That was the first rule of a quiet life with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen just then as she was turning the last piece of bacon.

"Comb your hair! YOU TOO, BOY!" The large man barked as he saw Harry in the house, sneaking away.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon would look over his newspaper and snap at Harry to cut his hair. He had about the most haircuts anyone in Little Whinging had ever seen, she guessed, and every time it seemed to grow back as much as ever- but that was no problem, that what his hair was like- all over the place. Amelia's hair was normally fine because she combed it almost everyday, though she didn't this time, because Aunt Petunia had woken her up before she could do so. Her hair wasn't as crazy.

Amelia had been frying eggs when Dudley entered the kitchen, his large pink face was so much like Uncle Vernon's, and he didn't have a neck. If he did, it'd probably be behind all those chins. Aunt Petunia had always said he looked like a baby angel, Harry called him a pig in a wing and other nasty things, while Amelia took both sides so she wouldn't get into trouble.

Amelia had put the plates full of breakfast on the cluttered table, which made it hard to do so, and looked around at the present-filled room. Meanwhile, Dudley was busy counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty six. That's two less than last year!"

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present. See, it's her under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"Fine, alright, that's thirty seven then." Amelia's face screwed up. _He didn't even care to count my present he already opened. _

As if reading her mind, Harry erupted from the cupboard, a very angry expression showed on his face. "Thirty-_eight _you..." He cut himself off and continued. "Count Amelia's present, for god's sake! So what you opened it? Your loss." Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon swung around and glared at Harry. _No, no, no! What have you gotten yourself into, Harry! _"Sorry about Harry! Really sorry... Come on, Harry, get back to the cupboard.. Oh, okay Petunia, Vernon. Go make yourself useful and clean up the house, if you can manage that much!" Amy growled.

It was hard to snap at him when she honestly thought there was nothing wrong. She mouthed out 'Sorry. They made me do it!'

Obviously the Dursleys had forgotten everything Harry had said, because as Amelia turned around and skipped to the table, she could tell there was going to be a huge Dudley tantrum going on, started wolfing down her breakfast in-case he turned the table over.

Aunt Petunia obviously sensed the danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today, how about that, popkins? Two more presents. Is that alright?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty... Thirty..."

"Thirty-nine, sweetums." said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment, the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it when Amelia and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote controlled airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take them." She jerked her head in Amelia's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Amy's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Amelia and her brother were left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Amelia hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry, as if he had planned this, and who who was listening in behind her. Amelia knew she ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when she reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates them, especially that boy!"

The Dursleys often spoke about Harry and Amelia like this, as though they weren't there - or rather, as though they were something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend - Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could leave me here with Harry. I.. Could take care of him." Amelia suggested hopefully.

It looked almost as if the woman was considering it, but then she shook her head furiously.

"You might be fine, alone in the house. But I will _not _take the chance that you can stop that crazy.. Idiot brother of yours from blowing up the house!"

Harry's face screwed up. "I wont blow up the house." said Harry, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take them to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "... and leave them in the car..."

"That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone..."

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying - it had been years since he'd really cried - but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

"I... don't... want... them... t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "They always sp- spoils everything! Especially him." He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms and attempted to stick his tongue out at her. Everything in her body felt like punching the grin off his face, but a small voice was telling her '_No. We might be able to go to the zoo.. Just calm down..' _

Just then, the doorbell rang - "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically - and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Amelia, who couldn't believe her luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers, Dudley, and Harry on the way to the zoo for the first time in her life. Her aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with them, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry and her aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's, "I'm warning you now, - any funny business, anything at all - and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "honestly.." Amelia had nodded speedily. "Neither will I."

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe them. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Amelia and it was just no good telling the Dursleys he didn't make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his bangs, which she left "to hide that horrible scar." Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, he had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off He had been given a week in his cupboard for this, even though he had tried to explain that he couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Aunt Petunia had always hated Harry much more than she did her, since he seemed to always get into trouble. So did she, though. One time she had went outside, walked out, closed her eyes, and found herself up on the roof. When Amelia had gotten down, Dudley laughed, but Aunt Petunia seemed terrified. Not for her safety.. For something else which Amy never figured out, and likely never would. 'Don't ask questions' she had remembered at the time, and kept her mouth shut.

Today, though, nothing would go wrong. Nothing at all. Even Dudley couldn't complain or cry because his friend Piers was happen to be quite excited though, even with them there, but he sent the occasional glare at her and Harry.

Harry noticed that his sister acted like a mother with him, since she was always there for him and helped him through thick and thin.. Cooked him dinner when he wasn't fed enough.. She'd always protected him. He noticed.. Without her, he'd hardly make it through the night and day. He knew.. He knew she would die for him in a flash. Often in his nightmares he had seen himself in a dark room with black walls. A snake-like man would be holding a stick and would say some words. A flash of green light would have been sent toward him- he had knew in the dream that he would die. But instead a girl with red hair, his sister, wuld run in the way in front of him and then when it struck her, she fell. Dead. For him.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Amelia, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.

"... roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

I had a dream about a motorcycle. So did Harry." said Amelia suddenly. "It was flying."

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Amelia and Harry, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

I know they don't," said Amelia. "It was only a dream."

By the look Harry was sending her, she knew that he wished she hadn't said anything. She didn't regret it, even though there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than their asking questions, it was their talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon - they seemed to think they might get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry and Amelia what they wanted before they could hurry him away, they bought Harry a cheap lemon ice pop and Amelia a cheap orange ice pop. It wasn't bad, either, Amelia thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blond.

Amelia had the best morning he'd had in a long time. She was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting her. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Amelia and was allowed to finish the first.

Amelia felt, afterward, that he should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can - but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Amelia moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. She wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself - no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least he got to visit the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's and Amelia's.

It winked.

Amelia stared, so did Harry. Then they looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. She looked back at the snake and winked, too.

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Amelia and her brother a look that said quite plainly:

"I get that all the time.

"I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him. Amelia added on:"It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Amelia peered at it.

Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

"Was it nice there?"

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Amelia read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see - so you've never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry and her made both of them jump.

"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the ribs and Amelia in the face. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor, then got greeted by one of Amelia's hands, the other was covering her face. She pulled him up.

What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened - one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Amelia sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past him, Amelia could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come... Thanksss, amigo."

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Harry had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, "Harry and Amelia were talking to it, weren't you?"

Amelia's face screwed up into a face. "_Don't you dare _blame anything on my brother like that! So what we were talking to it? Doesn't mean we had anything to do with what happened. _You _are just wanting someone to blame. I wont take insults from you pathetic little..."

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry and Amelia. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go - cupboard - stay - no meals," before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

Amelia lay in her cupboard next to Harry, and at last she decided that she wasn't going to let them starve. Quietly, she pulled herself up, trying not to disturb her brother. "Amy! You'll get caught and you'll get into trouble!" Harry hissed with worry. The redheaded girl rolled her eyes and ignored the warning, then continued to open the squeaky door, letting light into the dark cupboard.

Through the hall, into the kitchen, wasn't a hard challenge with Dudley screaming upstairs, taking all of her Uncle's and Aunt's attention, so the coast was clear.

The cabinets and drawers in the kitchen were all opened, some seemed to have been forced out of their spots and pulled down the the ground, just for someone to get food. Likely, this was the fault of Dudley.

It wasn't until five minutes had passed when she found some food that wasn't scattered all around the floor or smashed up,and that food that she could find only ended up to be cereal, milk, and a few pretzels.

As she got everything ready, though, the whining and screaming stopped, only to be replaced by stomping footsteps and fretting coming downstairs, nearing the kitchen. ("Duddykins!" said Aunt Petunia leaning over her son. "Those brats will get what they deserve, Dudders...")

Her heart pounded fast- there was no way she'd be able to get to the cupboard without the Dursley's noticing, especially while holding pretzels and two bowls of cereals full of milk.

As the sound neared, though, Amelia knew she had to act. Remembering all the drawers and compartments in the kitchen, Amelia hid behind one of the open doors to a cupboard. Knowing they would still spot her, Amelia scurried back into the compartment and closed the door. Aunt Petunia sounded confused from outside of the compartment. Her Aunt hit the door multiple times, but it seemed that she gave up. ("Petunia! Duddles here needs some icecream, do you think-?" Aunt Petunia nodded quickly and opened the freezer in what seemed like a split second. "Here you are, sweetums.") This was her chance- since her Aunt was over with Dudley, she could escape the compartment and run to the cupboard. And so, she did.

"Amy! I thought you'd get caught." said Harry, sounding worried once again.

"You and me both."

Leaning down, Amelia placed the food on the bed for them to eat.

Harry looked at the food suspiciously for a second before he grabbed one of the spoons and took a bite. Immediately, his face brightened. "ankshs." Harry said, his voice made into a disfigured mumble because his face was filled with the Kellogs Frosted Flakes cereal. "No problem."

She'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as she could remember, ever since she'd been a baby and her parents had died in that car crash. She couldn't remember being in the car when she and Harry's parents had died. Sometimes, when she strained his memory during long hours in her and her brother's cupboard, she came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burn- ing pain on his forehead. Apparently, Harry had it to. This, she had supposed as a suggestion to her brother, was the crash, though she couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. She couldn't remember her parents at all. Sometimes she did- but then the memory would disappear. Her aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course she was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When she had been younger, Harry and her had both dreamed and dreamed (Which was strange that they had the same dream at the same time- as they were different people. She always thought it was a twin thing) of some unknown relation coming to take them away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were their only family. Yet sometimes she thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know them. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to her and Harry once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking she and Harry furiously if they knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at them once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken Harry's, than her, hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Amelia tried to get a closer look.

At school, Harry and Amelia had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Harry Potter in his baggy old clothes and broken glasses. And that odd Amelia Potter with the long, baggy, unfitting clothes from her Aunt, her strange brown-green eyes, and her so-called 'unnatural' red hair, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang.

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry and Amelia's longest-ever punishment. By the time they was allowed out of their cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Amelia was glad school was over- likely Harry was too-, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Potter Hunting.

This was why Harry and Amelia spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where they could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came they would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in his life, they wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny. And Amelia.. She was going to go to Wilter's School For Girls

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall." he told Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No, thanks," said Harry. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it - it might be sick."Then they ran, before Dudley could work out what Harry had said.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry and Amelia at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn 't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let the twins watch television and gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Harry, nor Amelia, trusted themselves to speak. She thought two of her ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry and Amelia went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. She went to have a look, forcing Harry to stay behind. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.

"What's this?" She asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question.

"Your new school uniforms," she said.

Amelia looked in the bowl again.

"Oh," she said, "I didn't realize it... Well, it's just I expected.."

"WE DIDN'T EXPECT IT TO BE SO WET!" Screamed Harry from the table.

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's and I's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

Amelia seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. She sat down at the table and tried not to think about how she and Harry were going to look on their first day at school - like they was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from the twin's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Make Amy get it."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke her with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

Amelia dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Four things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and - a letter for Harry, and a letter for her.

Amelia picked both of the letters for her and her brother up and stared at them, mainly just hers, her heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in her whole life, had written to the them. Who would? They had no friends, no other relatives - she wasn't allowed at the library, so she'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, two letters, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

And:

Ms. A. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelopes were thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the addresses were written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Turning her envelope over, her hand trembling, Amelia saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, girl!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Amelia went back to the kitchen, still staring at her letter. She handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk. -."

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Amelia's got something!"

Amelia was on the point of unfolding her letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon.

"That's mine!" said Amelia, trying to snatch it back, then sent an urgent glance at Harry and held out her arm. Uncle Vernon snatched that, too.

"Who'd be writing to you two brats?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking her letter open,with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness - Vernon!"

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry, Amelia, and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read that letter," he said loudly. "_I _want to read it,and I want Harry to read the other," said Amelia furiously, "as it's ours."

"Get out, all of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Neither of the twins moved.

"I WANT MY LETTER!" They shouted in union.

"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry, Amelia and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Harry, Amelia and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry and herself, Harry's glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on their stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address - how could they possibly know where they sleep? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching - spying - might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want -"

Amelia could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything...

"But -"

"I'm not having one- let alone two- in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry and Amelia in their cupboard.

"Where's my letter?" said Harry, Amelia nodded the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to us?"

"No one. it was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it."

"It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily, "it had our cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er - yes, Harry, Amelia - about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking... you're really getting a bit big for it... Especially because there are to of you... we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom.

"Why?"asked Amelia

"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry and Amelia one trip upstairs to move everything they owned from the cupboard to this room. She sat down on the bed next to Harry and stared around her. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, "I don't want them in there... I need that room... make them get out..."

The twins sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday she'd have given anything to be up here. Today she'd rather be back in her cupboard with that letter than up here without it.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Amelia was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing she'd opened the letters in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's another one! 'Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive, Surrey. Ms. A. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive-"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry and Amelia right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind and Amelia grabbed his arm from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry's and Amelia's letters clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard - I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Amelia and her brother. "Dudley - go - just go."

Amelia walked round and round her new room, followed by Harry. Someone knew they had moved out of their cupboard and they seemed to know they hadn't received their first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time she'd make sure they didn't fail. She had a plan. Harry smirked at her, obviously sharing it.

The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Amelia turned it off quickly and dressed silently before Harry. She mustn't wake the Dursleys. She stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights.

She was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. Her heart hammered as she crept across the dark hall toward the front door -

Amelia leapt into the air; she'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat - something alive!

Lights clicked on upstairs and to her horror Amelia realized that the big, squashy something had been her uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry and her didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He shouted at Amelia for about half an hour and then told the twins to go and make a cup of tea. Harry and her shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time they got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap. Harry could see four letters addressed in green ink.

I want -" he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before his eyes. Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver them they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry and Amelia. As they couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked, and jumped at small noises.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry and Amelia found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

"Who on earth wants to talk to either of you this badly?" Dudley asked Harry and Amelia in amazement.

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today -"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but the twins leapt into the air trying to catch one.

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized Harry and Amelia around the waist and threw them into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shake'em off... shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley, Harry and Amelia shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored, Harry slept, but Amelia stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering...

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

"'Scuse me, but might two of you be Mr. H. Potter and Ms. A. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk."

She held up two letters so they could read the green ink address:

Mr. H. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

And:

Ms. A. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

She and Harry made a grab for the letters but Uncle Vernon knocked their hands out of the way. The woman stared.

"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television. "

Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday - and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days the week, because of television - then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's and Amelia's eleventh birthday. Of course, their birthdays were never exactly fun - last year, the Dursleys had given them a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Amelia privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer her up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Harry and Amelia were left to find the softest bit of floor they could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry nor Amelia could sleep. She shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, her stomach rumbling with hunger. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time, and Amelia in one minute. She lay and watched their birthdays tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

"Happy birthday Amy." Harry cheered as it struck 10PM. Amelia smiled a blew the dusty, sandy ground which she had drawn a birthday cake into, and made a wish: _Let me have a letter and free me from this house! _

Five minutes to go till Harry's birthday. Amelia heard something creak outside. She hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although she might be warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that they'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and her brother would be eleven. Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten... nine - maybe she'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him - three... two... one...

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Harry and Amelia sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.


	4. Chapter 2

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake. "Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly.

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands - now they knew what had been in the long, thin package he had brought with them.

"Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you - I'm armed!"

There was a pause. Then -

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey..."

He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear.

"Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger.

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

"An' here's Harry!" said the giant.

Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yet dad, but yeh've got yet mom's eyes."

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.

I demand that you leave at once, sit!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

"Anyway - Harry-,"

"Wh.. Why are you here, sir? And how do you know my brother?" The giant moved his head around to look at her.

"Amy! I was wonderin' where you were." said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "a very happy birthday to yeh both. Got summat fer yeh here - I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Harry and Amelia opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Harry and Amelia written on it in green icing.

Amelia looked up at the giant. Harry meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, "Who are you?"

The giant chuckled.

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm.

"Harry, be more polite!" hissed Amelia in a whisper.

"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Amelia felt the warmth wash over her as though she'd sunk into a hot bath.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."

The giant chuckled darkly.

"Yet great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry."

He passed the sausages to Harry, and Amelia who were both so hungry they had never tasted anything so wonderful, but she still couldn't take his eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, she said, "I'm sorry, but we still don't really know who you are."

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts - yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course.

"Er - no," said Harry and Amelia in union.

Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly, Amelia nodded.

"Sorry?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. "It' s them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

"All what?" asked Amelia.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!"

He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this boy, and this girl - these children! - knows nothin' abou' - about ANYTHING?"

Amelia thought this was going a bit far. She had been to school, after all, and her marks were the best in her class.

"I know some things," she said. "I can, you know, do school, math and stuff, I'm not dumb. Neither is Harry!" But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world."

"What world?"

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

"DURSLEY!" he boomed.

Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at the twins.

"But yeh must know about yet mom and dad," he said. "I mean, they're famous. You're both famous."

"What? Our - Harry and I's mom and dad weren't famous, were they?"

"Yeh don' know... yeh don' know..." Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing the siblings with a bewildered stare.

"Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he said finally.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.

"Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sit! I forbid you to tell these children- these brats- anything!"

A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told him? Never told them what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from them all these years?"

"Kept what from us?" said Harry eagerly.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yet heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Harry - yer a wizard. An' Amy, yer a witch."

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

"- a what?" gasped Amelia.

"A wizard and a witch, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' thumpin' good'uns, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."

Amelia stretched out her hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to Ms. A. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. She pulled out the letter and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Harry obviously got the same letter, because his eyes were stretched wide and he examined the letter very well.

Questions exploded inside Amelia's head like fireworks and she couldn't decide which to ask first. After a few minutes she stammered, "What does it mean, they await my owl? Or our owls?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl - a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl - a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note that Harry could read upside down:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Given Harry and Amy their letters.

Taking him to buy his things tomorrow.

Weather's horrible. Hope you're Well.

Hagrid

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.

Amelia realized his mouth was open and closed it quickly.

"Where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

"They are not going," he said.

Hagrid grunted.

"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop them," he said.

"A what?" said Harry, sounding interested.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call nonmagic folk like them. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took them in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of him! Wizard and Witch indeed!"

"You knew?" said Amelia. "You knew I was - a witch? And you knew, that Harry was a wizard?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that-that school-and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was - a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years.

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you both, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as - as - abnormal - and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

Harry had gone very white. As soon as it seemed he found his voice he said, "Blown up? You told us they died in a car crash!"

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry and Amelia Potter not knowin' their own story when every kid in our world knows his name!" "But why? What happened?" Amelia asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious.

"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harry, Amy, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh - but someones gotta - yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'."

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh - mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it..."

He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "It begins, I suppose, with - with a person called - but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows -"

"Who? "

"Well - I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?"

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Amy, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went... bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was..."

Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

"Could you write it down?" Amelia suggested.

"Nah -can't spell it. All right - Voldemort. " Hagrid shuddered. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this - this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too - some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, both of yeh. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches... terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him - an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before... probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side.

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em... maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You both was just a year old. He came ter yer house an' - an' -"

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," he said. "But it's that sad - knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find - anyway..."

"You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then - an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing - he tried to kill both of yeh, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got those marks on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a Powerful, evil curse touches yeh - took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even - but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age - the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts - an' you both was only a baby, an' you lived."

Something very painful was going on in Amelia's mind. As Hagrid's story came to a close, she saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than she had ever remembered it before - and she remembered something else, for the first time in her life: a high, cold, cruel laugh.

Hagrid was watching him sadly.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot..."

"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon. Harry jumped; he had clearly almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched.

"Now, you listen here, brats" he snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you both, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured - and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion - asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types - just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end -"

But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley -I'm warning you - one more word... "

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.

Amelia, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.

"But what happened to Vol-, sorry - I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Good question, Amy. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see... he was gettin' more an' more powerful - why'd he go?

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don~ reckon they could've done if he was comin' back.

"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you two finished him. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on - I dunno what it was, no one does - but somethin' about you stumped him, all right."

Hagrid looked at Harry and Amelia with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Amelia, Harry it looked like too, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A witch? And Harry, a wizard? Them? How could they possibly be? She'd spent her life being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if she was really a witch, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock she and her brother in their cupboard? If they'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick them around like a football?

"Hagrid," Harry said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a wizard, and same with Amy being a witch."

To his surprise, Hagrid chuckled.

"Not a wizard, eh? Not a witch, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"

Amelia looked into the fire. Now she came to think about it... every odd thing that had ever made her aunt and uncle furious with them had happened when she and her brother, Harry, had been upset or angry... chased by Dudley's gang, they had somehow found themselves out of their reach... dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, Harry had managed to make it grow back... Same with Amelia... and the very last time Dudley had hit him, hadn't she got her revenge, without even realizing she was doing it? Hadn't she set a boa constrictor on him with the help of Harry?

Amelia looked back at Hagrid, smiling, and saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at him.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Harry Potter and Amelia Potter, not a wizard or witch- you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."

But Uncle Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight.

"Haven't I told you they're not going?" he hissed. "Harry is going to Stonewall High and he'll be grateful for it, so will Amelia when she goes to Wilter's School for Girls. I've read those letters and they need all sorts of rubbish - spell books and wands and -"

"If they wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop them," growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter' s son an' daughter goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Their names been down ever since they was born. They're off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and they won't know themselves. They'll be with youngsters of their own sort, fer a change, an' they'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had Albus Dumbled-"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH THEM MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, "NEVER," he thundered, "- INSULT- ALBUS- DUMBLEDORE- IN- FRONT- OF- ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley - there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Amelia saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers.

Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them.

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."

He cast a sideways look at Harry and Amelia under his bushy eyebrows.

"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm - er - not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff - one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry.

"Oh, well - I was at Hogwarts meself but I - er - got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore." "Why were you expelled?"

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."

He took off his thick black coat and threw it to the twins.

"You can kip under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."


	5. Chapter 3

DIAGON ALLEY

Amelia woke early the next morning along with Harry. Although she could tell it was daylight, she kept hier eyes shut tight.

"It was a dream," she heard Harry told himself firmly. "I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came to tell me I was going to a school for wizards. When I open my eyes I'll be at home in my cupboard."

"Harry, I'm not sure you right, we might-"

There was suddenly a loud tapping noise.

And there's Aunt Petunia knocking on the door, Harry thought, his heart sinking. But he still didn't open his eyes. It had been such a good dream.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"All right," Harry mumbled, "I'm getting up."

(Dummy! That was too real to be a dream! Thought Amelia.) She sat up and Hagrid's heavy coat fell off her. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed sofa, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

Harry and Amelia scrambled to their feet, so happy she felt as though a large balloon was swelling inside her. She went straight to the window and jerked it open, followed by Harry. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn't wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid's coat.

"Don't do that."

Amelia tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak fiercely at her and carried on savaging the coat. Harry chucked.

"Hagrid!" said Amelia loudly. "There's an owl

"Pay him," Hagrid grunted into the sofa.

"What?"

"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets." Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets - bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, teabags... finally, Amelia pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

"Give him five Knuts," said Hagrid sleepily.

"Knuts?"

"The little bronze ones."

Amelia counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out his leg so Amelia could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then he flew off through the open window.

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched.

"Best be Off, Harry, Amy, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school."

Amelia was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them. She had thought of something that might make her cry.

"Um - Hagrid?"

"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.

"I haven't got any money - and you heard Uncle Vernon last night ... he won't pay for me to go and learn magic."

"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

"But if their house was destroyed -"

"They didn' keep their gold in the house, girl! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold - an' I wouldn' say no teh a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."

"Wizards have banks?"

"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

Harry and Amelia dropped the bit of sausage they were holding.

"Goblins?"

"Yeah - so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins... Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe - 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you gettin' things from Gringotts - knows he can trust me, see.

"Got everythin'? Come on, then."

The twins followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

"How did you get here?" Harry asked, looking around for another boat. "Flew," said Hagrid.

"Flew?" asked Amelia

"Yeah - but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh."

They settled down in the boat, Amelia still staring at Hagrid, trying to imagine him flying.

"Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving the twins another of his sideways looks. "If I was ter - er - speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

"Of course not," said Harry and Amelia in union, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped off toward land.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Harry asked.

"Spells - enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the highsecurity vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way - Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

Amelia sat and thought about this while Hagrid read his newspaper, the Daily Prophet. Amelia had learned from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult, she'd never had so many questions in his life.

"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning the page.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Amelia asked, before she could stop herself.

"'Course," said Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, 0 ' course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice."

"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?"

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country."

"Why?"

"Why? Blimey, Harry, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone."

At this moment the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street.

Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Amelia couldn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, Harry, Amy? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"

"Hagrid," said Amelia, panting a bit as she ran to keep up, "did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?"

"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

"You'd like one?"

"Wanted one ever since I was a kid - here we go."

They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money," as he called it, gave the bills to Amelia (instead of Harry, for some reason.) so she could buy their tickets.

People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

"Still got yer letters?" he asked as he counted stitches. Amelia took the parchment envelope out of his pocket, followed by Harry who repeated the process.

"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."

Amelia unfolded a second piece of paper she hadn't noticed the night before, and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2\. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3\. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4\. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emetic Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

wand cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) set

glass or crystal phials

telescope set

brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

"Can we buy all this in London?" Amelia wondered aloud.

"If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid.

Neither Harry nor Amelia had ever been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he said as they climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all the twins had to do was keep close behind him. They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all be some huge joke that the Dursleys had cooked up? If Amelia hadn't known that the Dursleys had no sense of humor, she might have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything Hagrid had told them so far was unbelievable, Harry and Amelia couldn't help trusting him.

"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Ameia wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Amelia had the most peculiar feeling that only she, Harry, and Hagrid could see it. Before she could mention this, Hagrid had steered them inside.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hands on Harry's and Amelia's shoulders and making Amelia's knees buckle.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at the siblings, "is this - can this be -?"

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry and Amelia Potter... what an honor."

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his hand, then moved and seized her hand, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Mr. And Ms. Potter, welcome back."

Amelia didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at them. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry and Amelia found themselves shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. And Ms. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. And Ms. Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hands - I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, Ms. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me and Amelia once in a shop." Amelia nodded, remembering.

"They remember!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? They remember me!" Harry and Amelia shook hands again and again - Doris Crockford kept coming back for more.

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Amelia, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potters," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's and Amelia's hands, "c-can't t-tell you how p- pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potters?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep the twins to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on - lots ter buy. Come on, Harry, Amy."

Doris Crockford shook Harry's and Amelia's hands one last time, and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

Hagrid grinned at the two of them.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was both famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh - mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

"Is he always that nervous?"

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience... They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag - never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject now, where's me umbrella?"

Vampires? Hags? Amelia's head was swimming. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up... two across he muttered. "Right, stand back, both of yeh."

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick he had touched quivered - it wriggled - in the middle, a small hole appeared - it grew wider and wider - a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

He grinned at Harry's and Amelia's amazement. They stepped through the archway. Harry looked quickly over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons - All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self-Stirring - Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money first."

Amelia wished she had about eight more eyes. She turned her head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad..."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium - Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys and girls of about Harry's and Amelia's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Amelia heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand - fastest ever -" There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Amelia had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon...

"Gringotts," said Hagrid.

They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was -

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Amelia. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Amelia noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

"Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid, Harry and Amelia made for the counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter's and Ms. Amelia Potter's safe."

"You have their keys, Sir?"

"Got 'em here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Amelia watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

"Got them," said Hagrid at last, holding up two tiny golden keys.

The goblin looked at them closely.

"That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have Someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he and the twins followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked.

"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

Griphook held the door open for them. Amelia, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in - Hagrid with some difficulty - and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Amelia tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering.

Amelia's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but she kept them wide open. Once, she thought she saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late - - they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

I never know," Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid. "An' don' ask me questions just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."

He did look very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling.

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.

"All yours," smiled Hagrid.

All Harry's - it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from him faster than blinking. How often had they complained how much Harry cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to him, buried deep under London.

Hagrid helped Harry pile some of it into a bag.

"The gold ones are Galleons," he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." He turned to Griphook. "Wha' about Amy's?" The Griphook looked angry- like all the goblins in the bank- but nodded.

He only needed to take a few paces forward until the goblin went to a complete stop, turned around, and opened another vault. This one seemed slightly more filled than Harry's. It was amazing.. It looked almost as if she could buy anything.

Narrowing her eyes, Amelia saw a little piece of paper on a Galleon nearest to the door. She sent Harry a glance, though his eyes shimmered in understanding. Smiling, Amelia leaned down and picked it up. It was a note, and it read:

'Amelia. Harry has a vault of his own... And his own money. But please.. Use all of this wisely, for your brother, for your friends, and for yourself.

Love from your mother and father.'

Amelia kept a firm grip on the piece of paper. It sounded almost as if they knew they were going to die? (_No. That can't be true. _She told herself.) Either way, she held a strong grasp on the paper.. Her parents wrote it. A tear slowly streamed down from one of her olive green eyes.

"Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Griphook.

They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Amelia leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled her back by the scruff of her neck.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.

Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault, Amelia was sure, and she leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least - but at first she thought it was empty. Then she noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Amelia longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.

One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Amelia didn't know where to run first now that she had a bag full of money. She didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that she was holding more money than she'd had in her whole life - more money than even Dudley had ever had.

"Might as well get yer uniforms," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, Amy, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Amelia and her brother entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, clear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here - another young man being fitted up just now, in fact. " Madam Malkin then noticed her. "Oh. Yes- here you go... Girls robes are over there.. Go get fitted up.

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him) slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

"I do - Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" "Mmm," said Harry, wishing he could say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," said Harry. He was liking the boy less and less every second.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage - lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant," said Harry coldly.

"Do you?" said the boy, with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," said Harry shortly. He didn't feel much like going into the matter with this boy.

"Oh, sorry," said the other,. not sounding sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.

Amelia went around the place with the girls robes. Standing there was one girl with a pug-like face, wearing a robe that looked horrible considering what she looked like.

"Hello?" said Amelia shyly to the girl.

"Who are _you_?" was the reply, and it sounded dangerous.

"Amelia."

"Ah. Well. Name's Pansy. Hogwarts, I'd guess?"

"Yes, hey uh I really think-" but she was cut off by Madam Malkin, who was tapping her foot behind Amelia.

"Girls. Pansy, that will be four Galleons.. Oh, yes. You dear, try this on. I'll see to it to make sure it fits perfectly. Come now, just- good." Pansy snorted.

Harry was rather quiet as he ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought him (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).

"What's up?" said Hagrid.

"Nothing," said Harry, though she was quite sure that it was a complete lie. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Harry seemed to cheer up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed color as you wrote. When they had left the shop, he said, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

"Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know - not knowin' about Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," said Harry. He told Hagrid about the pate boy in Madam Malkin's.

"-and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in."

"Yer not from a Muggle family. If he'd known who yeh were - he's grown up knowin' yer name if his parents are wizardin' folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line 0' Muggles - look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!"

"So what is Quidditch?"

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like - like soccer in the Muggle world - everyone follows Quidditch - played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls - sorta hard ter explain the rules." "And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"

"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but -"

"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff" said Harry gloomily.

"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

"Vol-, sorry - You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"

"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid.

"I met a girl in the shop too, she seemed very rude. I bet she'd act just like the boy you met if we continued to talk..." said Amelia, stopping for a moment, then continued. "I wish I played Quidditch... Do you think they'll let me?" Hagrid's face fell and he turned to looked at her, seeming to sympathize.

"Yeh can't play Quidditch as a Firs'-Year."

Next, they went to Flourish and Blotts. The shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on the of these.

"Mr? I need some school books for Hogwarts-"

"Say no more. I reckon you need a set too? Okay. Here. That'll be-"

"NO! I mean, yes. But can I also get some extra books? Hogwars, a History, the Book of Charms and Spells, Self-Defence Spellwork, A Guide to Advanced Transfiguartion, Wizard Spells, Advanced Potion-Making..." The shop owner looked taken aback for a moment, frozen, after she completed the lsit, but then managed to pick up all the books and hand them to her after she payed.

"Amy! Why are you buying so many extra books? And listen to the names! _Advanced_! Seriously?" said Harry, looking as surprised at the store owner.

"There's nothing wrong with advancing ahead and studying, is there?" replied Amelia innocently.

"

Amelia and Hagrid wouldn't let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron. ("It says pewter on yer list" said Hagrid.), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Harry and Amelia, the twins examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked their lists again.

"Just yer wands left - A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh both a birthday present."

Amelia felt herself go red.

"You don't have to -"

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animals. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at - an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing, and Amelia was holding a cage with barn owl. They couldn't stop stammering their thanks, sounding just like Professor Quirrell.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now - only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."

A magic wand... this was what Amelia had been really looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Amelia felt strangely as though she had entered a very strict library; she swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to her and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of her neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped. Amelia stayed put. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Amelia awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry and Amelia Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes, Harry. Amelia, you look just like her, but her eyes weren't olive green. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to the twins. Amelia wished she would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it - it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that the twins and him were almost nose to nose. Amelia could see herself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where..."

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's, then Amelia's forehead with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."

He shook his head and then, to Amelia's relief, spotted Hagrid.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er - yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Amelia noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now - Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er - well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons.. Er. There are some rare strange ones though.. Anyways! No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try -"

Harry tried - but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no -here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere - I wonder, now - - yes, why not - unusual combination - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious... "

He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious..

"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harry swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... After all, He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great.

"Now, Ms. Potter, I presume? Yes. Well. Here you go, I have one right here. Try this." Ollivander handed her a long, dark-red wand. She swished it, only to find out her face automatically sort of burnt up, and ashes were all over her. Harry chuckled.

"Nope, nope, nope! Er.. Here you are, Birch, ten inches, dragon heartstring." Amelia smiled, hoping the same outcome wouldn't appear.

She flicked in in the air and several boxes fell out of the shelves.

"Dear, oh dear. I see that's not the wand then. Give it here- good girl..." He stopped and started to mutter. "_Her brother was very curious indeed. Perhaps?_" Ollivander shook himself and walked down a row, then picked up a gray box and handed it to her.

Amelia stretched her hand out and picked the wand out of the case. This one made her feel warm to the touch. She lifted it up and made it circle around. Little silvery wisps came out of it, and it seemed almost as if they were dancing around, until suddenly, it disappeared. "Very curious, so much like your brother. Yew, 12 inches, dragon heartstring core. One of my first wands. Never did it chose an owner, no matter how hard I tried. Thought it was corrupt for a moment there!- Some people don't like Yew wands because there is a rumor that they are normally used by dark wizards. Lies, I tell you! The people who use the wands are the bad ones, it's not the wand's fault. Oh, well. Mr. Potter, seven Galleons for your wand, and Ms. Potter, 9 Galleons for yours. Good- thank you. Better go off to Hagrid now."

Amelia shivered. Her wand was that old? And yew... Mr. Ollivander did say that the rumor was a lie.. But was it? Was it a sign that she would be a dark wizard? _No _

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry, Amelia, and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. The twins didn't speak at all as they walked down the road; they didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Harry's lap, and Amelia's barn owl on her lap. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Amelia only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped her on the shoulder.

"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said.

He bought Harry a hamburger and Amelia some chicken strips and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Amelia kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow.

"You all right, Harry, Amy? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid.

Amelia wasn't sure he could explain. It seemed as though Harry felt the same, but he talked after taking another bite of his hamburger..

"Everyone thinks we're special," he said at last. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander... but we don't know anything about magic at all. ("That's why I bought those extra books.. Well, of course I also wanted to know more and study, but still." said Amy.)How can they expect great things? We're famous and we can't even remember what we're famous for. We don't know what happened when Vol-, sorry - I mean, the night our parents died."

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very kind smile.

"Don' you worry. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts - I did - still do, 'smatter of fact."

Hagrid helped Harry and Amelia on to the train that would take him back to the Dursleys, then handed them each an envelope.

"Yer tickets fer Hogwarts, " he said. "First o' September - King's Cross - it's all on yer tickets. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owls, they'll know where to find me... See yeh soon, Harry, Amy."

The train pulled out of the station. Amelia wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; she rose in her seat and pressed her nose against the window, but she blinked and Hagrid had gone.


End file.
